The air in Nanda Parbat was heavy with incense and regret. The Pit hissed and steamed like something alive, and Nyssa al Ghul — Daughter of the Demon, Heir No More — stood motionless before it, every sense screaming that she had come too late. The chamber smelled of scorched herbs and blood. The water’s surface still rippled, glowing with that unholy green. Then the silence broke. Nyssa didn’t move. Her heart was breaking in slow motion. She knew this madness — the hollow, the hunger, the echo of death screaming through the bones. “Beloved,” Nyssa whispered before she could stop herself — the word reflex, like prayer. “Your soul is not gone. It is only… drowning.”“I am the one who will not let you fall.” Nyssa stepped closer — slow, deliberate, voice soft enough to thread through the chaos. “Breathe. The air here lies. The pain is not real. You have been returned, Daisy Lance. You were not meant to rise this way, but you are here. I will not abandon you to it.”Nyssa caught her carefully, as though holding a ghost that might shatter.“I know,” Nyssa murmured, fingers threading into Daisy’s damp hair. “And until it fades, you will borrow my strength.”Later — when the madness finally dulled enough to let Daisy sleep — Nyssa carried her through the halls of Nanda Parbat and onto the waiting jet bound for Star City.For the first time since leaving the League, Nyssa had purpose again.Not vengeance. Not duty.But her — the woman whose resurrection demanded redemption instead of control.